UC-NRLF 
P  ^ 

3513 
0525 
H6 
1913 

MAIN      STAGE  GUILD  PLAYS 


B    M    0=17 


JLJ.V-/J-I 


bEIN.IN   BLACKFRIARS 


STAGE  GUILD  PLAYS 
HOLBEIN  IN  BLACKFRIARS 


Plays  and  Masques 

Published  by  the  Stage  Guild 

The  Daimio's  Head  and  Others,  cloth,  $1.00 

Ryland,  A  Comedy,  paper,  25  cents 

Holbein  in  Blackfriars,  paper,  25  cents 

Dust  of  the  Road,  paper,  25  cents 

The  Masque  of  Montezuma,  paper,  25  cents 

Caesar 's  Gods,  paper,  25  cents 

The  Chaplet  of  Pan,  paper,  35  cents 

A  Pageant  for  Independence  Day,  paper,  35cts. 

THE  STAGE  GUILD 

1527  Railway  Exchange  Building 

Chicago 


HOLBEIN  IN  BLACKFRIARS 

An  Improbable  Comedy  by 

KENNETH  SAWYER  GOODMAN 
&  THOMAS  WOOD  STEVENS 


THE  STAGE  GUILD 
CHICAGO 


Copyright,  1913,  by 

Kenneth  Sawyer  Goodman 

and  Thomas  Wood  Stevens 

All  rights  reserved. 


NOTICE.     Applications  for  permission  to  perform 
this  play  should  be  made  to  The  Stage  Guild 
1527  Railway  Exchange   Building,  Chicago;  no 
performance  of  it  may  take  place  without  con 
sent  of  the  owners  of  the  acting  rights. 


HOLBEIN  IN  BLACKFRIARS 


CHARACTERS: 

Hans  Holbein 

Mistress  Chepster,  his  landlady. 

Margaret,  her  daughter. 

Nicholas  Moxon,  a  model. 

An  Old  Gentleman  in  Search  of  Prints. 

A  Patron  in  Search  of  a  Design  for  a  German 

Stove. 

Thomas  Cromwell,  Earl  of  Essex. 
King  Henry  VIII. 

SCENE 

Holbein's  studio  at  his  lodging  in  Blackfriars, 
London. 

Holbein  is  discovered  painting  a  portrait  of  the  King, 
Moxon  posing,  Margaret  sitting  by,  seeing  to  it  that  the 
painter  does  not  cease  work. 


MOXON.    I've  an  itch  on  my  nose. 

MARGARET.  What  of  it?  He'll  not  leave  off  painting 
this  hour  yet. 

MOXON.  I  tell,  ye  both,  I've  a  beggarly  gnawing  itch 
on  my  nose.  Furthermore,  I  should  have  had  my  half 
gallon  of  beer  this  long  time  gone.  I  warn  thee  I  shall 
move  if  I'm  not  paid  attention  to. 

HOLBEIN.  Hold  thy  tongue,  or  I'll  bid  Meg  to  cover 
thy  face  again  with  the  napkin. 


385054 


Will  r*o  one  k ring  me  my  beer?    Will  no  one 
Scrartch'-my  ncste!     v* 

HOLBEIN.  I've  said  naught  against  lifting  thy  hand. 
Thunder  of  God !  Scratch  thine  own  nose  and  have  done 
with  thy  talk. 

MOXON.  What  good  in  lifting  my  hand  when  there's 
no  flagon  of  beer  to  lift  with  it.  Furthermore  if  I 
scratch  my  own  nose,  the  itch  will  but  settle  between 
my  shoulder  blades. 

HOLBEIN.  [Putting  down  his  brush.}  Go  out  and  drown 
thyself  in  beer.  Go  out  and  scratch  thyself  all  over! 

MOXON.  Vulgar  man!  Listen  to  him,  Meg.  It  points 
what  I  am  always  saying  about  foreigners, — low  every 
one  of  them — low. 

HOLBEIN.  Get  down  off  thy  throne  and  be  damned 
to  thee! 

MOXON.  Aye.  And  when  I  do,  thou'll  not  get  me  up 
again,  let  me  tell  thee. 

MARGARET.  Thou'lt  not  get  down,  Nick  Moxon. 
Thou'lt  stay  where  thee's  put. 

MOXON.  Sir  Nicholas  Moxon,  by  thy  leave!  I'd  have 
thee  remember  that  I  am  a  gentleman, — a  gentleman 
fallen  upon  evil  times,  but  still  a  gentleman.  Further 
more,  thou  hast  no  manners,  Meg;  no  manners  at  all. 
Every  night  I  go  home  and  weep  about  thy  manners. 

MARGARET.  So  much  as  lift  thy  leg  to  get  off  that 
throne  and  it's  thy  own  shins  thou'lt  be  weeping  about. 

MOXON.  It's  thy  mother  I  blame  more  than  thee,  lass. 
Taking  a  foreigner  into  the  same  English  home  with  a 
growing  girl, — to  say  nothing  of  forgetting  my  half 
gallon  of  beer. 

HOLBEIN.  This  is  too  much!  Let  the  man  go!  I'm 
done  with  him  for  the  day. 


MARGARET.  Thou  art  nothing  of  the  sort.  What  will 
the  merchants  of  the  Steelyard  say  and  the  portrait 
of  His  Gracious  Majesty  not  finished  against  the  grand 
dinner  at  the  guild  hall  next  week? 

HOLBEIN.  The  devil  fly  away  with  the  Merchants  of 
the  Steelyard!  There's  time  enough. 

MARGARET.  Oh,  aye,  and  the  devil  fly  away  with  the 
ten  pounds  thou  art  to  get  from  them,  too,  I  suppose. 
There  is  still  the  head  to  do. 

HOLBEIN.    Money,  money,  money!    Always  money! 

MARGARET.  Yes,  money,  money,  money.  Fifteen 
pounds  owing  my  mother,  to  say  nothing  of  the  yellow 
silk  dress  thou  didst  promise  me  for  myself. 

HOLBEIN.  I'll  give  thee  something  better,  Meg.  A 
holiday  to-morrow,  eh!  A  barge  ride  on  the  river  to 
see  the  King's  procession.  A  holiday  with  flags  to  look 
at,  and  fat  men  in  cloth  of  gold,  and  noblemen  in  furs, 
and  proud  ladies  in  fine  clothes  all  decorated  like  a 
church  on  Easter.  Beautiful  ladies,  eh?  Ha,  ha! 

MARGARET.  I'd  rather  have  the  yellow  dress.  What  do 
I  care  for  flags  and  fat  men. 

HOLBEIN.  Nay,  but  the  King,  Meg!  Thou  shalt  see 
him,  with  a  gold  belt  on  him,  big  like  the  saddlegirth  to 
a  Flemish  stallion.  He's  a  grand  sight,  thy  Harry  of 
England,  dressed  in  green  velvet  like  a  mountain  with 
grass  on  it.  Didst  ever  see  the  King  himself?  Eh? 

[Enter  Mistress  Chepster.] 

MARGARET.  Nay,  I  never  put  eyes  on  him  and  I'm 
not  like  to  ifl  look  to  thee  for  the  chance. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Meg!  Meg!  Where's  thy  respect 
for  Master  Holbein! 

"MARGARET.    I  haven't  any.    Get  back  to  thy  painting. 

7 


HOLBEIN.  Thou  art  a  slave-driver,  Meg.  A  naughty, 
beautiful  slave-driver. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Aye,  that  thou  art,  Meg!  And 
thou  art  ungrateful  to  the  good  Master  Holbein. 
Think  of  the  wonderful  portrait  he's  done  of  thee  ail 
dressed  in  the  clothes  of  the  Lady  Ann  of  Cleves,  her 
that's  become  the  King's  own  true  and  lawful  wife, 
married  to  him  only  yesterday  by  proxy  and  him  never 
having  clapped  eyes  on  her,  they  do  say,  but  only 
taking  her  on  the  word  of  Thomas  Cromwell,  Earl  of 
Essex,  for  the  sake  of  alliance  with  the  German  Prot 
estants. 

MARGARET.  And  it's  lucky  for  her  if  he  didn't  see  her, 
and  her  with  dowdy  German  clothes  on  her  that  no 
English  lady  would  wish  to  be  seen  dead  in. 

MOXON.  Aye,  that's  a  gleam  of  proper  spirit,  lass. 
These  foreigners — the  things  they  put  on  their  backs! 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  But  to  think  of  seeing  thine  own 
face  atop  of  royal  clothes.  Clothes  what  thou'st  sat 
in  thyself  for  the  portrait  of  a  living  queen!  Where's 
thy  gratitude  for  that? 

MARGARET.  I  haven't  any!  I've  been  the  legs  and  arms 
and  body  for  too  many  fine  ladies.  I've  seen  too  many 
faces  staring  at  me  from  my  own  neck  to  care  if  my  own 
face  has  got  atop  of  royal  clothes  for  once.  Ask  Nick 
Moxon  there.  His  stomach  has  served  for  half  the 
aldermen  of  London.  Ask  him  how  he'd  like  to  have 
his  own  face  painted  for  once. 

MOXON.  God  forbid!  I  take  no  pride  in  my  face,  nor 
my  stomach  either  for  that  matter.  It's  my  hands, 
my  fine  hands  and  knowing  how  to  sit  down  in  good 
clothes, — that's  what  makes  me  what  I  am,  the  best 
model  in  London. 

MARGARET.    So  that's  what  you're  thinking,  is  it? 

8 


MOXON.  Aye,  about  that  and  the  wicked  impudence  of 
young  girls.  And  furthermore,  my  half  gallon  of  beer 
that  nobody's  got  me,  and  a  devilish  crick  in  my  neck 
and  the  natural  damned  bad  taste  of  foreigners. 

MARGARET.  There's  some  in  England  with  bad  taste, 
too,  I'm  thinking,  to  judge  by  what  thine  Earl  of  Essex 
has  picked  us  for  a  queen. 

HOLBEIN.  Hold  thy  tongue,  Meg.  The  portrait  is  not 
to  be  talked  on.  Go  fetch  Moxon  his  beer. 

MOXON.    Now  someone  has  begun  to  talk  sense. 
MARGARET.    I'll  not  fetch  him  his  beer! 
MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.    Thou  wilt  or  I  will  myself. 
MOXON.     I'll  move!     I'll  break  the  pose! 
MARGARET.     I'll  take  the  broom  to  thee  if  thou  dost. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Give  me  sixpence,  Meg.  I've 
no  money  in  my  purse. 

MARGARET.    No  more  have  I. 

HOLBEIN.  Confound  you  all !  Beer  or  no  beer,  I'll  paint 
no  more. 

MARGARET.     Thou  wilt  SO ! 
HOLBEIN.      I  will  not. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Peace!  Peace,  for  the  love  of 
Heaven!  [A  knock  at  the  door.]  Would  ye  have  all 
the  world  hear  us  brawling  over  beer? 

MOXON.    And  why  not  ?    [Another  knock.} 
HOLBEIN.    Hush!    It  may  be  my  Lord  Cromwell. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Mercy  on  us!  Come  in,  sir,  come 
in!  [The  First  Art  Patron,  an  Old  Gentleman,  enters.} 


AN  OLD  GENTLEMAN.  Is  this  where  Master  Hans,  the 
painter,  hath  his  lodging? 

MOXON.    Send  this  be  a  man  wi*  a  shilling! 

HOLBEIN.    I  am  Hans  Holbein. 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.    Thou'rt  the  graver  of  pictures? 

HOLBEIN.      Ja. 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.  The  same  that  wrought  the  Dance 
of  Death  in  prints?  [Holbein  nods.] 

MOXON.  Dance  o'  Death — 'e  must  be  treading  it  now, 
the  old  corpus. 

HOLBEIN.  [Without  looking  up]  Meg,  get  for  the  gen 
tleman  the  prints. 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.  And  how  am  I  to  know  about  these 
prints,  if  they  be  the  true  and  veritable  ones? 

HOLBEIN.     Meg,  those  prints! 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.  And  so  many  vile  and  false  ones 
about.  And  I  must  have  the  set  complete,  every  one, 
and  thine  own  hand  to  it,  sir. 

HOLBEIN.  [Giving  up  in  disgust  and  taking  the  prints 
from  Meg.]  So,  so!  Every  one! 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.  Made  with  thine  own  hands,  and  o' 
thine  own  devising,  Master  Hans? 

HOLBEIN.    Mein  Gott!    What  can  I  say? 
MARGARET.    The  money,  sir.     Ten  shillings. 
OLD  GENTLEMAN.    Ten  shillings! 

MOXON.  For  the  love  of  England,  Meg,  let  him  not 
get  away ! 

MARGARET.    Five,  then. 

10 


OLD  GENTLEMAN.  Five.  [Takes  prints  grimly,  counts 
and  smiles.]  A  bargain!  The  Dance  of  Master  Hans 
for  five.  The  collectors  of  the  yard  shall  never  know. 
Ha,  ha!  Bargain!  [Exit  Art  Patron.] 

MOXON.  My  beer!  My,  my  beer!  I  had  the  word  of 
someone  that  my  half  gallon  of  beer  would  be  fetched 
for  me. 

HOLBEIN.  Cover  his  face  with  the  napkin!  [Meg 
covers  Moxons  face.] 

MOXON.  [Under  the  napkin.]  My  beer!  I  will  not  be 
put  upon  in  this  fashion. 

HOLBEIN.  Be  patient,  friend  Moxon.  Mistress  Chep- 
ster  will  run  herself  to  the  ale  house. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Aye,  that  I  will.  [She  goes  to  the 
door,  where  she  runs  into  Lord  Cromwell,  who  enters  in  a 
fine  rage,  followed  by  a  servant.]  Lord  have  mercy!  The 
earl  himself. 

CROMWELL.  Where's  Master  Holbein.  Ah,  so  there 
thou  art,  eh? 

HOLBEIN.  I  am  always  the  humble  servant  to  my 
Lord  Cromwell. 

CROMWELL.  Look  ye,  Master  Holbein.  I  commissioned 
thee  to  go  with  my  agent  Erskine  to  Germany,  there 
to  make  such  drawings  of  the  Princess  Ann  of  Cleves 
as  might  serve  thee  in  painting  a  portrait  of  her.  Thou 
wast  granted  an  audience  of  full  half  an  hour.  A  dress 
belonging  to  her  highness  was  procured  for  thee  to  paint 
from.  And  thou  didst  return  to  London  two  weeks  ago. 

HOLBEIN.    It  was  to  the  word  exact  as  my  lord  speaks  it. 

CROMWELL.  Thou  hadst  the  money  in  advance  for 
thy  work. 

HOLBEIN.    Most  generously,  yes,  my  lord. 

ii 


CROMWELL.  Well,  what  hast  thou  done?  I've  seen  no 
portrait.  It  was  to  have  been  in  my  hands  on  Monday 
last.  Three  times  thou  hast  put  off  my  people  with  some 
flowery  excuse  or  other. 

HOLBEIN.  I  have  so  bad  a  memory  for  days,  my  lord. 
We  artists,  it  is  the  nature  of  us  to  be  such.  I  have 
explained  that  paint  must  have  dryness  to  be  moved. 
I  thought  it  should  be  Monday  next. 

CROMWELL.  Monday  last!  I  promised  the  King  he 
should  see  it  on  Monday  last.  Three  times  I  have 
put  him  off.  He's  become  devilish  curious  to  see  it. 
I  fancy  there  must  be  meddlers. 

HOLBEIN.  Oh,  but  one  cannot  paint  a  queen  without 
the  last  touch,  my  lord,  like  the  sign-board  to  an  ale 
house. 

CROMWELL.  Body  of  St.  George,  how  much  more  time 
must  I  give  thee? 

HOLBEIN.  Not  an  hour  longer,  my  lord.  I  have  her 
already  finished  this  morning. 

CROMWELL.  Out  with  her  then.  I've  had  a  deal  of 
bother  on  thy  account  and  hers,  too. 

HOLBEIN.  [To  Mistress  Chepster.}  Be  so  good  as  to 
uncover  the  portrait  for  my  lord.  [Mistress  Chepster 
uncovers  portrait.} 

CROMWELL.  Is — is  that  the  Princess  Ann  of  Cleves? 
Good  God,  man,  I — I  can't  believe  it! 

HOLBEIN.    My  lord  has  never  seen  the  lady? 

CROMWELL.  Aye,  ten  years  ago  I  saw  her.  She  was  a 
blooming,  flaxen  haired  slip  of  a  thing. 

HOLBEIN.  Ten  years  are  ten  years,  my  lord.  Our  wom 
en  of  Germany  do  not  bear  well  what  you  call  the  middle 
age.  I  have  much  experience  of  them. 

12 


CROMWELL.  But  she  can't  be  like  this.  It's  wicked. 
It's  against  nature. 

HOLBEIN.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  nature.  I  paint 
exact  to  the  life  what  I  can  see. 

CROMWELL.  It's  not  what  I  expected.  It's  not  what 
the  King  expects.  He's  in  the  devil  of  a  temper.  If 
he  sees  that  face  to-day  it  will  change  the  map  of 
Europe! 

HOLBEIN.    Why  must  he  see  it  to-day? 

CROMWELL.  There  has  been  talk.  I  tell  thee  he's 
suspicious  of  me!  He's  jumpy  as  a  cat.  If  I  don't 
show  him  something  he's  like  to  recall  the  German 
envoys  and  annul  the  marriage.  If  I  show  him  this, 
he's  sure  to.  I  tell  thee  I'm  ruined. 

HOLBEIN.    I'm  in  sorrow,  my  lord,  but  it  is  not  my  fault. 

CROMWELL.  Not  thy  fault!  Not  thy  fault!  It  is  all 
thy  fault.  Thou  shouldst  have  made  her  more  beautiful. 
Thou  shouldst  have  flattered  her  to  suit  my  needs. 
Thou  shouldst  have  known  how  to  please  the  King's 
fancy. 

HOLBEIN.  I  am  not  a  court  painter,  my  lord.  I  can 
only  paint  the  truth. 

CROMWELL.  Truth?  What  do  I  care  for  truth !  This  is 
politics.  The  King  must  be  satisfied  till  the  envoys  are 
out  of  England.  He  must  see  something  pleasant, 
I  tell  thee. 

HOLBEIN.  What  would  my  lord  have  me  do?  I  am 
not  God  to  alter  the  face  of  her  Highness. 

CROMWELL.    Thou  canst  alter  the  portrait. 

HOLBEIN.  But  the  King  would  know  the  difference  in 
a  short  while,  my  lord. 

13 


CROMWELL.  It  is  to-day  that  counts.  I  shall  know  well 
enough  how  to  handle  him  later.  He  will  be  bound 
hand  and  foot.  I  can  explain  a  mistake.  I  can  smooth 
things  over. 

HOLBEIN.     But  the  verity  of  mine  art! 

CROMWELL.  Damn  thine  art!  Without  thy  help  I'm 
a  ruined  man. 

HOLBEIN.     Thou  dost  me  too  much  honour,  my  lord. 

CROMWELL.  Come,  as  man  to  man,  what's  to  be  done? 
Use  thy  wits,  Master  Hans,  if  thou  hast  any. 

HOLBEIN.  [Scratching  his  head.]  Zut!  thou  art  my 
benefactor.  I  must  help  thee.  Wait!  Yes!  [He  steps 
over  and  uncovers  the  portrait  of  Margaret  dressed  in  the 
clothes  of  Ann  of  Cleves.]  Dost  thou  see  this  picture? 
It  is  of  Meg  Chepster  there,  my  landlady's  daughter. 
She  sat  also  for  the  body  of  her  Highness.  I  have  painted 
her  in  the  same  clothes  out  of  compliment.  See,  the 
royal  chain,  the  ermine  collar,  the  order  at  the  breast, 
all  identical  but  the  colour  only.  Take  it.  'Twill  serve 
thy  turn,  doubtless.  Meg's  a  fair  lass.  Later  thou 
canst  say  thy  agents  found  me  gone  on  a  holiday  and 
took  by  mistake  the  wrong  picture. 

CROMWELL.  Blood  of  Paul!  Thou  hast  a  shrewd  head 
on  thee.  I'll  take  it. 

MARGARET.  Nay,  nay,  nay!  Thou  shalt  not!  'Tis 
mine. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  'Tis  our  own,  my  lord,  done  for 
us  in  place  of  pay  for  five  weeks  food  and  lodging. 

MARGARET.    Thou  shalt  not  take  it. 
HOLBEIN.    Hush,  for  the  love  of  God ! 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Fifteen  shillings  extra  I  allowed 
for  the  ermine  collar  and  royal  chain. 


MARGARET.     Half  the  money  is  mine  if  we  part  with  it. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  And  five  shillings  for  the  order 
on  the  breast. 

MARGARET.  [To  Holbein.]  I  say  thou  shan't  give  it 
away. 

CROMWELL.  Be  still,  be  still,  be  still!  Would  you 
deafen  me!  [To  Margaret]  Thou  shouldst  be  right 
glad,  girl,  to  have  thy  face  pass  for  that  of  a  queen. 

MARGARET.  Aye,  but  I'm  not.  If  thou  wantest  the 
picture  so  badly,  give  me  two  pounds  for  the  lend  of 
it,  and  three  pounds  more  against  thy  keeping  it. 

CROMWELL.     Four  pounds. 

MARGARET.      Five. 

CROMWELL.    Four  pounds  ten. 

MARGARET.     Five,  paid  into  my  mother's  hand. 

HOLBEIN.     Meg,  thou  art  a  Jew. 

CROMWELL.  Thou  art  a  shrewd  lass.  Put  out  thy  hand, 
woman.  [Mistress  Chepster  puts  out  her  hand  and  Crom 
well  drops  coins  into  it.} 

CROMWELL.  [To  servant.]  Here,  lad,  take  this  to  the 
coach.  [Cromwell  goes  to  the  door.] 

HOLBEIN.     Fortune  go  with  thee,  my  lord! 

CROMWELL.  Look  ye  now!  Not  a  word  of  this.  And 
the  other  portrait — keep  it  well  covered  till  I  fetch 
it  away. 

HOLBEIN.  Trust  me,  my  lord.  [Cromwell  goes  out. 
Meg  following  to  the  door  looks  out.} 

MARGARET.  And  what  if  he  shouldn't  bring  it  back — 
not  ever. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.     We've  the  gold  for  it  then. 

15 


MARGARET.  Gold  for  it!  Five  pounds  we  have.  Tell 
me,  Master  Hans,  wilt  thou  paint  me  again  if — if  he 
does  not — 

HOLBEIN.  He  will  bring  it.  Five  pounds!  If  he  had 
been  born  an  earl — perhaps  no.  But  my  Lord  Crom 
well,  he  was  born  son  of  a  smith.  Never  fear,  Meg 
mein  kindchen. 

MOXON.  Now  by  the — the — the —  Ye've  all  gone  and 
forgotten  my  beer  again.  I  call  it  downright  heartless 
and  unmannerly,  and  me  so  patient  with  an  itch  on 
my  nose.  But  it's  only  what  might  be  expected  of 
foreigners,  no  souls  in  them,  no  souls  whatever. 

HOLBEIN.  [To  Mistress  Chepster,  who  has  taken  the  money 
from  the  Art  Patron.}  Here,  give  me  the  tuppence. 
I'll  fetch  the  beer  myself.  Look  to  it  Meg !  If  he  moves 
whilst  I'm  gone,  'tis  thine  own  fault. 

}Holbein  takes  a  coin  from  Mistress  Chepster  and  goes 
out}. 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Tuppence  from  five  shillings 
leaves — 

MARGARET.  Go  back  to  thy  spinning,  mother.  I'll 
be  staying  here  with  Nick.  [Mistress  Chepster  goes 
into  the  inner  room,  counting  the  money.  Meg  takes  up 
a  bunch  of  brushes  and  begins  to  wash  them,  her  back  to 
the  room.} 

MOXON.  I've  a  mind  to  give  thee  all  my  opinion  of 
foreigners.  Low,  no  hearts,  no  souls  in  them,  no  sympa 
thy  whatever;  and  furthermore  I'll  wager  thee  that  this 

J  .11,-  i  * 


MARGARET.  Hold  thy  prattle,  hold  it,  I  say.  I'll  not 
have  thee  slandering  the  good  Master  Holbein  behind 
his  back. 

16 


MOXON.  Oh,  the  wickedness  of  young  girls!  'Tis  plain 
to  see  thou  lovest  him,  Meg,  for  all  thy  talk!  Dost 
think  he'll  marry  thee  lass,  eh? 

MARGARET.  Shut  thy  trap!  Where  wouldst  thou  be 
without  Master  Holbein?  In  the  gutter,  most  like — 
thee  with  a  face  on  thee  to  frighten  God  Almighty. 
Why  Master  Holbein,  that's  kindness  and  patience 
itself,  can't  bear  to  sit  and  paint  thy  fat  body  without 
I  must  cover  thy  face  with  a  napkin. 

MOXON.  Nay,  it's  not  my  face  I  take  pride  in,  though 
once  I  had  a  face  that  would  please  some  of  better 
blood  than  thine.  'Tis  my  beautiful  hands,  and  knowing 
how  to  sit  still  in  fine  clothes  that  makes  me  what  I  am. 

MARGARET.  "The  best  model  in  London."  I've  heard 
thee  say  it  often  enough. 

MOXON.  Aye,  that  I  am.  Where's  another  like  me?  A 
true  gentleman  born  to  sit  for  thrippence  an  hour. 
I'm  thinking  of  what  Master  Holbein  would  do  without 
me  now  and  furthermore,  I'm  thinking  about  the  wretch 
ed  wilfulness  of  young  girls,  and  the  evil  trickery  of 
foreigners,  and  and — and — about  my  half  gallon  of 
beer  that  I'll  never,  never,  never  get.  [He  nods,] 

MARGARET.  Go  to  sleep.  Go  to  sleep.  Thy  beer  is 
being  fetched  for  thee.  Go  to  sleep. 

MOXON.  Aye,  and  I  will  so.  But  harkee,  when  I  wake, 
if  'tis  not  at  my  elbow,  I  will  be  as  a  lion  in  anger,  as  a 
red,  red  plague  upon  this  house  and  them — that's — 
deceived  me  with  false  promises.  [He  sleeps.] 

MARGARET.  [She  busies  herself  with  the  brushes.]  Oh — 
ah — If  you'd  sleep  more,  Nick  Moxon,  and  talk  less — 
[Enter  King  Henry  incognito.  He  looks  much  like  a 
bailiff  or  a  small  tradesman.  He  shuts  the  door  quietly, 
looks  about  him.  Sees  Meg,  tiptoes  over  to  Moxon.  Sees 
that  he  sleeps,  and  stands  looking  at  the  portrait  of  him 
self.  She  turns  and  discovers  him.} 


MARGARET.    Another  man!    Serve  you,  sir? 

THE  KING.     Possibly,  possibly,  my  lass.     Call  Master 

Hans.  (Moxon  at  the  sound  of  the  Kings  voice  arouses 
himself,  draws  the  kerchief  from  his  face,  and  stares.} 

MARGARET.  He'll  be  back  soon.  Prints  is  it  you  want, 
sir? 

KING.     No. 

MARGARET.  Or  maybe  thou'rt  the  man  who  called  for 
the  drawing  of  the  German  stove.  Well,  it's  not  ready. 
Master  Holbein  has  had  great  portraits  to  make  for 
great  people.  He's  had  no  time  for  the  stove. 

MOXON.     [In  a  frightened  whisper.}     The  King! 

KING.    I  know  nothing  of  this  matter  of  a  German  stove. 

MARGARET.  It's  as  well.  I'll  not  have  Master  Holbein 
pestered  with  such — [She  scrubs  vigorously  at  the  brushes. 
Moxon  gets  down,  kneels  to  the  King  and  is  about  to  ad 
dress  him.  Henry  puts  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and  sends 
him  off.  As  he  is  about  to  go  through  the  door,  Meg 
looks  up,  sees  him  going  and  runs  after  him,  catching 
his  cloak.  Moxon  leaves  the  cloak  in  her  hands,  crying 
"Let  me  go!"  in  a  smothered  voice,  and  disappears.  She 
turns  angrily  to  the  King.} 

MARGARET.  See,  now,  what  thou'st  done.  Nick  Moxon 
gone  and  the  portrait  of  his  Majesty  to  finish. 

KING.    I  don't  follow  thee,  lass. 

MARGARET.  Of  course  not.  Here's  the  work  spoiled, 
and  our  model  gone,  and  thou  and  thy  stove — 

KING.  I  tell  thee  I  never  heard  of  this  stove.  I'm  a 
gentleman  come  to  see  a  portrait — a  portrait  for  my 
Lord  Cromwell. 

MARGARET.  So!  And  mayhap  thou  hast  an  order  from 
Lord  Cromwell — 

18 


KING.    I've  the  authority  of  the  King  in  this  matter. 

MARGARET.  And  thou  look'st  to  make  me  swallow  that  ? 
when  my  Lord  Cromwell  was  here  but  a  moment  ago 
and  took  the  portrait  with  him.  Do  I  look  so  simple, 
sir? 

KING.     I'll  not  stand  chaffering — 

MARGARET.  [In  a  rage.]  Chaffering?  Thou  com'st 
with  a  lie  about  my  Lord  Cromwell  and  a  lie  about  the 
King's  authority,  and  not  a  penny  for  the  drawing  of 
the  German  stove,  and  thou'st  driven  off  Nick  Moxon, 
and  how  Master  Holbein  can  finish  the  King's  portrait, 
I  know  not;  and  I'm  trying  to  look  to  things  for  him 
and  he'll  frown  on  me,  and  I  can  never  bear  to  have 
him  look  cross  o'  me — him  that's  so  gentle  and  lonely. 
[She  weeps.} 

KING.  There,  there,  lass!  Woman's  tears  I  could 
never  endure,  and  I've  had  many  of  'em,  too.  Here's 
a  crown  for  thee.  Let's  have  a  smile. 

MARGARET.  A  smile  for  a  crown  from  a  stranger! 
Na'y  and  Holbein  frowning  at  me  ?  And  Nick  Moxon 
gone  utterly? 

KING.     I'd  not  cross  thee,  lass.     What's  to  be  done? 
MARGARET.     Done!    The  portrait's  to  be  done. 
KING.     And  this  Moxon? 

MARGARET.  He  was  sitting  for  the  hands, — the  only 
model  in  Blackfriars  with  hands  like  a  gentleman. 

KING.     I  see — hands  like  a  King's,  eh? 

MARGARET.  And  now  he's  gone  and  Master  Holbein 
will  be  delayed,  and  I've  driven  him  so.  And  there's 
an  hour  of  light  left.  [Weeps  again.} 

KING.  [Going  over  to  her.}  My  hands,  my  lass — are 
they  not  white? 

19 


MARGARET.  Thy  hands — what  if  they  be,  and  Holbein 
angry  with  me? 

KING.  There,  my  lass.  Put  thou  the  cloak  upon  me. 
I  will  be  silent.  I  will  sit  still  and  listen  and  wait. 
There  my  pretty,  I'd  not  have  the  eyes  of  thy  love 
darkened.  I'll  serve  for  the  King  as  well  as  another. 
I'd  not  have  thee  weeping.  There.  [Sits  in  chair.] 
The  kerchief,  lass.  Dry  thine  eyes. 

MARGARET.  It's  but  fair  of  thee,  sir,  since  thou  mad- 
est  the  trouble. 

KING.  Sst!  Steps  coming.  Smile.  And  one  thing  more. 
When  Holbein  comes  in,  ask  him  one  question  for  me. 
Ask  him  what  he  thought  of  the  looks  of  the  German 
princess.  For  a  good  friend  and  one  willing  to  help 
thee  in  a  pinch,  ask  him  that. 

MARGARET.  I'll  ask  him  nothing  of  the  sort.  Who 
am  I  to  be  asking  about  great  ladies? 

KING.  Ask  him  for  me,  or  I —  [Starts  to  get  up  and 
and  take  off  the  cloak.} 

MARGARET.  I  will,  sir.  I  will — though  it's  precious  im 
pudent  thou  art — [Enter  Holbein.} 

HOLBEIN.  Here  it  is,  lass,  the  half  gallon  thy  Nick 
hath  been  crying  for  so  long.  I'd  have  fetched  it  sooner, 
but  for  the  old  gentleman  I  met  in  the  street,  the  old 
gentleman  that  pesters  me  to  design  him  a  true  Ger 
man  stove. 

MARGARET.  Aye,  the  whole  of  London  has  set  itself 
to  waste  thy  time,  and  thou  with  scarce  half  an  hour 
of  light  left,  and  old  Nick  asleep,  still  as  a  mouse. 

HOLBEIN.  Thou'rt  a  good  lass.  I  had  done  ill  without 
the  knave,  for  all  my  talk  against  him.  I  can  paint 
by  no  other.  Here,  Nick,  wake  up  and  take  thy — 

20 


MARGARET.  Hush,  hush !  'twere  foolish  to  waken  him, 
and  him  with  the  very  stillness  of  death  on  him.  Get 
to  thy  work.  There  may  be  no  need  to  give  him  the 
beer  at  all — and  tuppence  saved. 

HOLBEIN.  [Sitting  down  to  paint.]  A  mercenary  little 
wretch  thou  art,  Megchen. 

MARGARET.     'Tis  well  for  thee  I   am. 

HOLBEIN.  He  hath  somehow  disarranged  a  little  the 
drapery.  [Makes  a  move  toward  the  King.} 

MARGARET.  Nay,  nay,  thou'll  waken  him.  I  remem 
ber  well  how  it  should  be.  [She  arranges  the  cloak  over 
the  Kings  knees.} 

HOLBEIN.  He  hath  somehow  lost  the  kingly  look. 
MARGARET.  He  looks  the  same  as  ever  to  me. 

HOLBEIN.  Ah,  well,  I  must  take  thy  word  for  every 
thing,  lass. 

MARGARET.  [With  embarrassment}  Tell  me,  Master 
Holbein,  is  Germany  a  fair  country  to  live  in? 

HOLBEIN.    No! 

MARGARET.  Are  the — are  the  German  women  more 
beautiful  than  English  women,  thinkst  thou? 

HOLBEIN.  No,  no.  They  are  mostly — what  shall  I 
say — 

MARGARET.  But  not  all  of  them?  Now  this  princess 
Ann  of  Cleves — 

HOLBEIN.    Hush.    I  am  forbidden  to  speak  of  her. 

MARGARET.  But  between  thee  and  me  alone — come, 
now,  what  didst  think  of  her? 

21 


HOLBEIN.      Between   thee   and   me,   lass — well,   to   be 
quite  honest  with  thee —     [A  knock  is  heard.} 
Hush.    It  may  be  my  Lord  Cromwell  come  back.     Go 
to  the  door.     [Margaret  runs  to  the  door,  and  the  Second 
Art  Patron  enters^ 

MARGARET.    Well,  and  thy  business? 

PATRON.  [To  Holbein]  Aha,  so  I've  found  thee> 
Master  Hans  Holbein,  eh? 

HOLBEIN.    And  since  when  hast  thou  lost  me? 

PATRON.  Since  not  ten  minutes  gone.  We  were  dis 
cussing  the  design  of  a  German  stove,  a  tile  stove, 
a  veritable  Dutch  tile  stove.  I  gave  thee  the  minute 
particulars  of  my  needs  in  the  matter. 

HOLBEIN.  Ja.  Holding  me  by  the  sleeve  the  while. 
Well,  sir.  I  have  the  particulars.  I  have  promised  thee 
the  design.  In  the  meantime  I  have  other  work — 

PATRON.  I  had  not  gone  a  hundred  paces  after  leaving 
thee  when  I  bethought  me  of  the  figure  of  Minerva 
which  should  be  atop  of  the  stove. 

MARGARET.  By  thy  leave,  Master  Holbein  hath  things 
of  more  importance  than  stoves  to  be  thought  on  to-day. 

PATRON.  Hath  he  so?  Then  I'll  trouble  him  to  give 
me  back  the  five  shillings  he  had  of  me  in  advance. 

MARGARET.  Hast  thou  indeed  had  five  shillings  from 
this  gentleman?  [Holbein  nods.  She  turns  to  the 
Patron.}  Come  back  in  an  hour  and  thou  shalt  have 
the  drawing. 

PATRON.  Well,  well,  and  if  it  be  not  ready  in  an  hour, 
I'll  have  my  five  shillings  back,  that  I  will. 

MARGARET.  [Hustling  him  out.}  I  promise  thee. 
[Turns  to  Holbein.}  Five  shillings  he  gave  thee? 

22 


HOLBEIN.  Aye,  and  I've  a  mind  to  go  after  him  and 
give  them  back. 

MARGARET.  Thou'lt  not.  Thou'lt  draw  the  design  and 
give  me  the  shillings.  Come,  give  them  up,  I  say. 

HOLBEIN.  [Fishes  out  the  shillings  and  hands  them  over.} 
Thou'rt  too  hard,  Meg,  too  hard  altogether.  How 
shall  I  find  time,  think'st  thou,  to  do  all  this? 

MARGARET.  In  half  an  hour  the  light  will  fail  thee 
for  painting.  Thou  canst  draw  the  stove  under  the 
candle. 

HOLBEIN.     Slave-driver!     Ah  well,  ah  well. 

MARGARET.  Tell  me  now,  thou  wert  saying  something 
of  this  Princess  Ann  of  Cleves? 

HOLBEIN.  That  I  was,  and  there's  much  to  be  said. 
Harkee,  lass,  she's  a  lady  that  would—  [A  knock 
at  the  door.]  Hush,  that  will  be  my  Lord  Cromwell 
surely.  [Margaret  opens  the  door.  The  first  Old  Gen 
tleman  enters.] 

MARGARET.  Thou  again;  and  what  has  brought  thee 
back? 

FIRST  OLD  GENTLEMAN.  A  trick,  a  beggarly  trick! 
Lookee,  Master  Hans  Holbein,  thou  hast  put  upon  me 
by  reason  of  my  short  sight,  and  the  failure  of  my 
spectacles.  This  fifth  print  in  the  Dance  of  Death  is 
foxed  and  wrinkled  and  done  upon  most  vile  paper! 

MARGARET.  Go  to !  How  are  we  to  know  thou  hast 
not  changed  it  at  some  print-sellers'? 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.  Wha' — wha'  sayest  thou?  I,  I  a 
librarian  of  the  King,  I — I  to  change  a  print? 

HOLBEIN.  Hold  thy  peace,  Meg.  Give  the  gentleman 
the  portfolio.  Let  him  choose  one  for  himself. 

23 


MARGARET.  [Taking  down  the  portfolio.}  He  ought  to 
be  glad  of  his  first  bargain. 

HOLBEIN.     Nay.  lass,  let  him  be  content. 

OLD  GENTLEMAN.  [Selects  a  print,  looks  at  it  closely, 
chuckles,  and  tucks  it  under  his  arm.}  Thankee,  Master 
Holbein,  thankee.  A  perfect  set — and  a  marvellous 
bargain.  Aha!  [Exit  Old  Gentleman.} 

MARGARET.  As  thou  wert  saying  about  the  Princess 
Ann  of  Cleves — 

HOLBEIN.  The  Princess  Ann  of  Cleves  is — well,  she  is — 
let  me  think  how  to  put  it  to  thee —  [Enter  Mistress 
Chepster.} 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Meg,  Meg,  there's  a  file  of  pike- 
men  going  by  in  the  street.  Thou  canst  see  them  from 
my  window.  [The  King  emits  a  bored  groan,  and  settles 
down  in  the  chair.} 

HOLBEIN.     What  ails  thee,  Nick  Moxon? 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  [Pulling  Meg  s  arm.]  Come  to 
the  windows!  They'll  be  gone  by,  I  tell  thee.  [The 
King  gives  a  loud  snore,  and  his  head  sinks  on  his  breast.} 

HOLBEIN.    The  devil!    I  never  saw  him  do  that  before. 

[The  King  snores  again,  and  his  arm  falls  from  the  arm 
of  the  chair,  breaking  the  pose.} 

HOLBEIN.  He  hath  broken  the  pose.  [He  tiptoes  over 
to  the  King.} 

MARGARET.  [Starting  after  him.}  No,  no!  [Holbein 
removes  the  napkin  from  the  Kings  face.  The  King 
does  not  wake.  Holbein  starts  back  to  where  Margaret 
stands  wringing  her  hands.} 

HOLBEIN.  [In  a  whisper.}  Mine  eyes,  is  there  aught 
wrong  with  mine  eyes!  Who — who  is  that? 

24 


MARGARET.  [Whimpering.]  Nick  Moxon  went  away. 
I  was  frightened.  I  fetched  a  stranger  in  to  take  his 
place.  I  thought  it  would  please  thee.  'Tis  a  man  off 
the  street.  I — I — don't  shake  me! 

HOLBEIN.  Mary  in  Paradise!  'Tis  the  King!  The 
King  himself! 

MARGARET.    Art  thou  mad! 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Magic  in  my  house!  Black 
witchcraft  in  mine  own  house.  Nick  Moxon  changed 
to  the  likeness  of  the  King.  Cover  his  face,  Master 
Holbein,  and  let  us  say  prayers.  Let  us  say  prayers 
against  the  evil  that's  come  upon  us.  [Holbein  tiptoes 
over  toward  the  King,  and  is  about  to  put  the  napkin 
back,  when  the  King  gives  a  loud  snort  and  wakes  him 
self  up.} 

KING.     Eh!     Ah!     Where  am  I?     What's  the  time? 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Oh,  God  save  and  forgive  us, 
'tis  the  living  King  himself.  Oh,  your  Gracious  Maj 
esty!  Oh,  oh,  oh!  [She  falls  on  her  knees.} 

KING.  [To^  Mistress  Chepster.}  Get  up  off  thy  knees, 
woman.  I'll  not  eat  thee.  [To  Margaret}  Come,  lass, 
don't  stand  there  gaping  at  me.  I'm  not  a  poppet 
show.  Well,  why  doesn't  somebody  say  something. 
Have  ye  all  turned  to  stone? 

HOLBEIN.  Nay,  sire,  but  no  one  knows  what  to  say  to 
thee. 

KING.  Well,  Master  Hans  Holbein,  I  may  as  well  tell 
thee  it  straight  out.  I  came  here  with  a  purpose. 
Thou  hast  painted  a  portrait  of  the  Lady  Ann  of  Cleves. 
I  must  see  it. 

HOLBEIN.  I  regret,  sire,  I  have  it  not.  It  was  taken 
this  morning  by  my  Lord  Cromwell,  at  whose  order 
I  have  done  it. 

25 


KING.  So  ho!  That's  the  cry  is  it.  Sit  down  all  of 
ye,  sit  down!  There'll  be  much  talking  amongst  us 
before  I  get  to  the  bottom  of  this. 

HOLBEIN.  I  was  not  in  the  house  when  my  lord  took 
away  the  picture,  but  doubtless  he  was  impatient  to 
carry  it  at  once  to  thy  gracious  Majesty. 

KING.  Was  he  so?  I  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  not, 
Master  Hans.  I  have  had  information,  I  may  say. 
I'll  wager  thee  now,  my  Lord  Cromwell  is  none  too 
anxious  that  I  see  thy  portrait  to-day,  Master  Hans. 
That's  why  I'm  here,  man,  to  see  for  myself,  with  mine 
own  eyes,  before  he  gets  a  chance  to  play  me  any  more 
of  his  tricks. 

HOLBEIN.  I  do  not  understand.  I  have  done  only 
what  is  right  and  honest.  The  picture  is  ordered  by  my 
Lord  Cromwell.  It  is  finished.  He  hath  sent  for  it. 
It  is  gone.  I  cannot  conjure  it  back. 

KING.  Oh,  yes,  yes!  That's  all  very  well!  If  it  is  gone, 
it  is  gone  and  not  thy  fault,  I  daresay.  But  tell  me, 
Master  Holbein,  what  sort  of  a  woman  is  this  Ger 
man  princess. 

HOLBEIN.  [To  Meg]  Meg!  Meg!  Was  it  his  Majesty 
that  put  thee  up  to  asking  me  the  same  question  awhile 
since  ? 

MARGARET.  How  was  I  to  know  who  he  was?  I  meant 
no  harm.  I  swear  I  didn't.  He  might  have  been 
honest  with  me. 

KING.  'Twas  a  bargain  between  us:  I  to  sit  in  place 
of  thy  model  and  Meg  to  ask  thee  a  simple  question. 
No  harm  meant  by  either  of  us,  I  give  thee  my  word. 

MARGARET.  [Snivelling]  I'm  sure  I  did  my  best  to 
serve  the  both  of  ye.  I  asked  the  question  three  times. 

26 


KING.  [A gain  afraid  of  her  tears]  There!  There! 
I  know  thou  didst,  but  the  cursed  interruptions!  What 
with  old  men  with  squeally  voices — talking  of  stoves 
and  Dances  of  Death  and  what  not,  and  the  heat  of 
the  room,  I  became  that  bored,  I  fear  me  I  near  fell 
asleep. 

MARGARET.  And  was  that  my  fault  or  Master  Holbein's, 
let  me  ask  ? 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Meg!  Meg!  Lord  have  mercy! 
What  a  girl! 

KING.  [To  Mistress  Chepster]  Let  her  run  on.  I'm 
that  used  to  women  fussing  and  fuming  that  I  don't 
heed  her  at  all.  By-the-by  now,  Mistress  What's-thy- 
name?  Thou'rt  a  sensible  English  woman.  Thou 
hast  seen  this  portrait.  What  saist  thou  of  the  lady's 
beauty? 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  I — I — I  never  saw  the  portrait, 
sire.  Never  clapped  my  eyes  on  the  face  of  it,  so  help 
me  God! 

KING.  Never  saw  it!  Never  saw  it!  When  it  was 
done  in  thy  own  house,  and  thou  a  woman? 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Master  Holbein  is  most  par 
ticular  against  any  but  himself  seeing  the  face  of  a 
picture  till  it  hath  had  what  he  calls  the  last  touch. 

KING.  But  I  warrant  the  lass  here  hath  had  her  look. 
Come  Mistress  Meg,  what  hast  thou  to  say? 

MARGARET.  What  would  I  be  doing,  to  look  at  it  against 
Master  Holbein's  expressed  orders. 

KING.  Confound  ye  all!  Come,  Master  Hans,  I  ask 
thee  once  more,  tell  me  what  this  German  princess 
hath  amiss  with  her  that  ye  must  all  keep  so  mum 
about  her. 

HOLBEIN.    Oh,  sire,  it  is  not  that  the  least  thing  is  amiss. 

27 


KING.    Then  describe  her  to  me  at  once. 

HOLBEIN.  My  brush  is  ever  more  ready  than  my 
tongue.  My  Lord  Cromwell  hath  the  only  true  descrip 
tion. 

KING.  Damn  it  all,  I'll  not  be  played  with  in  this 
fashion.  Do  you  think  I  believe  one  word  of  what  ye've 
been  telling  me?  each  and  all  of  ye?  I  thought  to  get 
honest  fair  treatment  from  honest  plain  people;  and 
what's  the  result?  I  find  you're  as  bad  as  my  own 
courtiers.  Can  I  get  nothing  in  England  the  way 
I  want  it? 

HOLBEIN.  But  his  Majesty  hath  only  to  give  his  in 
structions. 

KING.  Hath  he  so?  Look  ye  now.  A  king  is  in  a  bad 
way  to  get  what  he  wants  in  this  world  if  his  ministers 
are  of  contrary  mind.  It's  right  seldom  I  have  my  own 
way. 

MISTRESS  c.  To  think  of  thee  not  having  aught  thou 
wantest  and  thou  with  silks  and  satins  and  velvets 
on  thee  seven  days  in  the  week. 

KING.  Oh,  aye,  but  some  of  what  I  have  to  wear  on 
me  is  damned  uncomfortable  too,  for  all  the  fine  names 
they  have.  Now,  Holbein,  as  man  to  man,  wilt  thou 
thou  do  me  a  service? 

HOLBEIN.     I  am  at  your  Majesty's  service. 

KING.  I  know — I  know — but  that  does  not  answer  me. 
Let  me  open  the  matter  fully.  Thou  hast  made  a 
portrait  of  a  princess  in  Germany — so  much  is  ad 
mitted.  Holbein — hast  thou  a  wife? 

HOLBEIN.     Aye — God  preserve  me! 
KING.     A  German  wife? 
HOLBEIN.    Aye. 
KING.    Where  is  she? 

28 


HOLBEIN.     Happily,  sire,  she  is  in  Germany. 

KING.  I  begin  to  see  a  light.  Thou  art  content  that 
she  remain  in  Germany,  so  long  as  thou  dost  not. 
She's  an  excellent  woman,  no  doubt. 

HOLBEIN.  No  doubt  of  it,  sire — but  I  can  not  be  con 
tent  in  the  same  province  with  her. 

KING.  She's  a  German  woman,  I  take  it,  well  past 
her  girlhood,  eh?  Not  too  well  favoured,  eh? 

HOLBEIN.     Even  so,  sire. 

KING.  Now,  Holbein,  follow  me  well.  Thou  knowest 
what  it  is  to  have  a  German  wife  of  these  years  and 
favour.  What  of  me?  My  chancellor,  thy  patron 
Cromwell,  is  set  on  bringing  me  such  a  wife,  and  lookee, 
once  I  get  her,  I  must  even  stay  in  the  same  province 
with  her. 

HOLBEIN.    My  heart  bleeds  for  thee,  sire. 

KING.  Ah!  Then  this  Anne  of  Cleves  is  all  I  have 
pictured  her!  She  is — 

HOLBEIN.    I  have  not  spoken  of  her,  sire. 

KING.  Thou'st  told  me,  plain  enough.  Out  with  it 
now.  This  picture  Cromwell  hath — is  it  honest?  Is 
it  like  the  woman? 

HOLBEIN.     I  have  done  mine  endeavour,  sire. 

KING.  Let  that  pass.  Thou  seest  my  straits,  Holbein. 
The  truth,  now,  as  a  man. 

HOLBEIN.      But   my   Lord    Cromwell   is   my   patron — 

KING.  So.  I'll  promise  thee  only  this:  thou  shalt 
suffer  naught  from  him.  Think  of  thy  wife.  Think  of 
this  Anne  of  Cleves.  Think  of  me — and  tell  me  the 
matter  right  out. 

29 


HOLBEIN.  As  I  live,  sire,  I  will.  My  Lord  Cromwell 
took  with  him  the  wrong  portrait.  Here  is  the  lady 
Anne  of  Cleves.  [Unveils  picture.] 

KING.     Mary  Mother  of  Heaven! 

HOLBEIN.  It  is  as  true,  sire,  as  any  hand  in  the  world 
could  draw  it. 

KING.  And  me  to  be  wed  to  that,  and  never  a  word  to 
say  for  myself.  Ah,  I'm  the  unluckiest  wretch  in 
England,  what  with  ministers  and  marriages.  What 
an  eye  she  hath — and  a  mouth  like  a  rift  in  a  wall. 
Now  let  Cromwell  look  to  himself.  It  is  as  I  thought. 
And  if  this  be  less  than  high  treason —  [There  is  a 
loud  knock.} 

CROMWELL.  [Outside]  Holbein,  Holbein,  thou  rascal! 
HOLBEIN.  My  Lord  Cromwell's  voice. 

KING.  Cover  this  calamity!  [Holbein  covers  the  picture.} 
[Enter  Cromwell.} 

CROMWELL.  Holbein,  he's  coming  here — [Sees  the 
King.}  Sire!  I  have  made  haste,  sire,  that  this  painter- 
man  might  make  ready  for  this  honour.  I  regret  that 
I  have  been  too  late. 

KING.    Far  from  it,  my  lord.    Thou  art  in  time. 
CROMWELL.    I  have  with  me  the  portrait  of  the  princess. 
KING.    Ah,  thou  hast  it  with  thee,  eh? 

CROMWELL.  Aye,  and  a  most  excellent  work  it  is. 
I  do  commend  Master  Holbein  to  thee,  sire,  for  a  painter 
of  honest  worth — even  as  in  this  he  doth  commend  the 
beauty  of  the  Princess  of  Cleves.  [He  unveils  the 
portrait  of  Meg.] 

KING.     So  this  is  the  lady,  eh? 
CROMWELL.    Yes,  sire. 

30 


KING.  It's  bonny  enough,  but  somehow  it  seems  I 
have  beheld  that  face  afore. 

CROMWELL.  I  know  not  how,  your  Majesty,  unless  in 
the  foreknowledge  of  dreams — 

KING.     Nay,  in  the  life.     Come  hither,  Meg. 

CROMWELL.  [Stepping  between  King  and  Meg.]  Sire, 
I  beseech  thee — 

KING.  [Haling  Meg  out  and  standing  her  by  the  picture.] 
A  painter  of  honest  worth,  truly.  [He  unveils  the 
portrait  of  Anne  of  Cleves.]  And  now,  my  Lord  Crom 
well,  tell  me  who  is  this  lady? 

CROMWELL.  This  lady,  sire — ah,  Master  Hans,  this  is 
a  strange  trick  thou  hast  played  us — a  stocks  and  rack 
and  gallows  trick — this  lady,  sire,  is  an  excellent  woman 
in  Germany — she  is  Master  Holbein's  wife. 

HOLBEIN.  Now  this  is  too  much!  I  do  what  I  can  for 
thee,  my  lord.  I  give  thee  what  I  have,  and  I  serve 
thee  faithfully.  But  my  wife,  even  though  I  cannot 
live  in  the  same  province  with  her — I  will  not  have 
my  wife  so  slandered.  No. 

KING.  Bravo,  Hans.  By  Heaven,  I  make  thee  court 
painter  of  England  for  this! 

CROMWELL.  Sire,  this  fellow  hath  tricked  me  most 
vilely,  most  unscrupulously— 

KING.  And  thou,  my  lord,  how  hast  thou  tricked  me? 
This  is  the  lady  thou  hast  chosen  for  me,  eh?  Tell 
me  now,  straight  out,  how  far  hast  thou  gone  in  this 
business? 

CROMWELL.     Sire,  this  portrait — 
KING.     Answer  me,  sirrah. 

CROMWELL.  The  envoys  have  gone,  sire.  The  State 
is  bound  to  this  marriage. 

31 


KING.  This  lies  close  to  the  edge  of  high  treason, 
Thomas  Cromwell.  I  have  long  suspected  thy  German 
bargains  and  alliances.  Bring  this  woman  to  me,  and 
I  will  put  her  away.  I  will  not  see  her.  And  thou — 
look  to  thine  honours  and  thine  offices.  B  egone !  [Crom 
well  starts  to  go  out;  Mistress  Chepster  runs  after  him.] 

MISTRESS  CHEPSTER.  Thy  three  pounds,  my  lord, 
for  the  safe  return  of  the  picture. 

[Cromwell,  with  a  despairing  gesture  swings  out  past 
her.  The  King  seats  himself  in  the  model's  throne.} 

KING.  God-a-mercy,  what  a  day!  [He  picks  up  the 
flagon.} 

HOLBEIN.     And  now,  sire,  for  the  portrait! 
CURTAIN 


